


The Gift of the Conchords

by iagentlebreeze



Category: Flight of the Conchords RPF
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iagentlebreeze/pseuds/iagentlebreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bret and Jemaine ponder Christmas gifts for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift of the Conchords

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subterrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subterrain/gifts).



“Good morning, Bret. You’re up early.” Jemaine entered the kitchen, sleepily rubbing his eyes, his hair standing out from his head in a thousand directions.  He righted his glasses on his face as he joined Bret at the table.

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“Here, I’m done with the cup.”

“Thanks.”

“What are your plans for the day?”

“I’m going to get some fruit from Sinjay.”

“Oh,” Jemaine faked interest. “Tell him hello for me.”

Bret stood up from the table, straightened his sweatshirt printed with racoons, and placed his hair bike helmet on his head. As he turned toward the door, Jemaine yelped. Bret turned back, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?”

“What happened to your hair helmet? It’s all…” Jemaine gestured wildly, searching for the right word. “… spotty?”

Bret removed the helmet from his head and studied it. “Oh yeah, it’s missing some pieces. Remember that big storm we had last week?” Jemaine nodded. “I was out riding in it—couldn’t get the bus—and I guess the rain loosened the glue so the wind blew some of the hair off it.” He rubbed one of the bald patches with his finger, the blue of the helmet’s plastic showing clearly through.

“Bret, that’s terrible! It looks … sickly! Why don’t you fix it?”

Bret shrugged. “Haven’t got any more hair to use.” He stared sadly down at the helmet, and it nearly broke Jemaine’s heart. He hurried to change the subject.

“So, I’m thinking of taking a second job.”

“You mean a first job. You haven’t got a job. So that would make it your first. Not your second.”

“Yes, yes, first, whatever. I’m thinking of doing some acting in television commercials,” Jemaine offered proudly.

“Really? Acting?”

“Yes!”

“D’you think you’re qualified to be an actor?”

“Well, yes,” Jemaine harrumphed. “I was in many shows at school. I was Pirate Number Four in our production of Pirates of Penzance. And I carried props in Summer Theatre that one time.”

“Oh, yes, right,” Bret agreed.

“I had these headshots done last week. I’ve been taking them round to agencies.”

“Who did these for you?” Bret studied the photos intently.

“Dave.”

“Why is there a picture of the back of your head included?”

Jemaine turned red and cleared his throat. “Dave said it would be good to have in case I was considered for a pornographic film.”

Bret’s eyes widened and he nodded slightly. “Had any luck yet?”

This time it was Jemaine’s face which fell in disappointment. “No.”

“I’m sure something will come up. See you tonight.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Jemaine watched Bret leave, the bald patches of his hair helmet glaring.

 

 

Everywhere they looked, Christmas screamed. Every door held a wreath, every store front decorated with candy canes, snowmen, santas, and elves. Jemaine shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and shivered as he walked along. He still couldn’t get used to American holidays.  He was supposed to be shopping for a gift for Bret; it was December 24th and he still had nothing for his best friend and roommate. He’d stopped in a music store, looking to replace Bret’s beloved 1980s Casio DG20 digital guitar, but the few they had were priced far beyond his capability. He’d looked at leather suits, a possible replacement for the one that had shrunk so badly, but they too cost more than Jemaine could even imagine spending.

Across town, Bret rode along the gaily decorated streets, his heart practically dragging along behind him. He had been to a half-dozen mobile phone shops with visions of getting Jemaine a real cameraphone. He soon found he could no more afford such a thing than he could suddenly, miraculously, take flight.

That night, after they had both returned to the apartment, Bret and Jemaine found themselves avoiding eye contact with each other, eating dinner silently, and then retiring to bed early. Both boys lay awake for hours, staring up at the ceiling. Jemaine sat up in bed, trying to get in a more comfortable position. The streetlight caught his profile, creating a silhouetted shadow on the wall across the room. Jemaine’s eyes widened as he saw it, an idea forming in his brain. Bret, on the other side of the room, staring at Jemaine’s shadow, also had an epiphany.

 

 

The next morning, Jemaine rose early, well before Bret was awake, and left the apartment.  He strode purposefully down the street, and scanning the horizon behind him, slipped quickly into a barbershop.

A few hours later, Bret stuffed a copy of Jemaine’s headshot into his backpack. As he headed out into the hall, he grabbed his hair helmet, but didn’t put it on.

Jemaine walked out of the barbershop wearing a plaid, furry-edged toboggan hat with earflaps, carrying a small brown paper bag. He had a satisfied smile on his face.

“Ten a.m. Tuesday. I’ll be sure he’s there. Thanks again.” Bret stood and reached over the desk to shake hands. The suited man behind the desk was sporting a smarmy smile and a horrendous comb-over.

“My pleasure. Your friend’s perfect for the ThickRichHair for Men campaign.” The man tapped the inset photo of the back of Jemaine’s head with a thick forefinger. “Or should I say, his hair is!” Bret nodded with a smile as he started out the door.

“And thanks for this!!” The agent held up Bret’s hair helmet. “It’s just what I’ve been looking for.”

 

 

It was Christmas morning. A light feathery snow had fallen over the city, giving the streets, stoops, and building tops a magical, sugary dusting.

Jemaine joined Bret in the living room, sitting by his side on the sofa. “Merry Christmas, Bret.” He hugged his pal, who frowned when he noticed Jemaine was wearing the toboggan hat with his pajamas.

“Merry Christmas, Jemaine. Are you that cold?” Jemaine looked up, questioning, then followed Bret’s gaze to his head. He grinned. Reaching behind his back, he held out a small brown paper bag topped with a shiny red bow. He shook it again at Bret, offering it to him.

“For me?”

“Yes! Merry Christmas!”

Bret opened to bag and peered inside to find it filled with tufts of thick, black curly hair. He looked up at Jemaine, who tugged the toboggan hat off with a flourish to reveal his freshly shaved head. Bret’s eyes widened.

“It’s for your hair helmet. So you can fix those baldy patches.” Jemaine said proudly.

His face frozen, Bret reached back and handed Jemaine his gift. Jemaine, puzzled, looked at the card. “What is this?”

“You got an audition for a hair product commercial. They loved the back of your head.” Jemaine’s expression now matched Bret’s.

“How did you …?”

“I traded my hair helmet for it.” Jemaine looked like he’d taken a punch to the gut.

“But I…”

“And I …”

There was a pause of about five entire minutes before the two dissolved into giggles, which then became full-blown hysterical laughing. Bret and Jemaine collapsed into each other’s arms and fell sighing back onto the couch, Bret’s head resting against Jemaine’s shoulder.

“I guess as long as we’re friends, that’s all that matters.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mel awoke with a start, curled up on her sofa, her arms around a pillow in an approximation of where Bret had been cuddled with Jemaine in her dream. She sighed, realizing that the lovely story had only happened in her head. But then she became aware of someone leaning over the back of the couch speaking to her. 

“Mel, wake up. Wake up.”

It was Bret, with Jemaine just behind him. She stared up in wonder.

“Hey guys, what are you doing here?”

Brett and Jemaine exchanged a meaningful glance then turned their attention back to her. “Well, Mel, we’ve been talking it over, and Jemaine and I both feel we owe you so much for being our most loyal fan, so … we’ve decided to say yes.”

Jemaine nodded. “Yes. We’ll do it.”

Do what? Mel wondered in her sleepy state. Not wanting to lose ground, she asked, “What about Doug?”

The guys shared a knowing glance again.

“You don’t have to worry about Doug,” Jemaine said.

“Yes, we’ve taken care of Doug,” Bret added.

They both reached down to her. Mel took their hands- Jemaine’s warm and moist, Bret’s smooth and cool- and allowed herself to be raised from the couch. She followed them across the room and did not notice whose hand it was that closed the bedroom door after them.

 

 


End file.
